Sunday, July 7, 2013

Somnambulating Through Sonoran Summer

Anyone who has lived through a desert summer knows the
out-of-time nature of it. Intense light. Intense heat. In Tucson where students
and winter residents have left, this whole town becomes more like what it used
to be decades ago. Smaller, quiet­. And
there is a palpable feeling of camaraderie among those of us who stick around.

Then come the summer rains. In good years there are almost daily
downpours. The sky opens up about four-thirty
and dumps for about an hour. Then glorious sunsets are reflected on the
under surface of thick yet dissipating clouds. Sometimes the pink or golden glow
extends all the way over your head to the eastern horizon. Stunning. Reward for
staying with the lizards and braving the parched oven-blast air that slaps you
as you emerge from an artificially cooled building.

We’re still waiting for those rains. Last weekend we got a little
preview. In an effort to get out of the house, a friend and I went downtown and
walked a couple blocks to our dinner destination through hot, somewhat heavy
air that draped us like a burka. It was overcast so the sun was an eerie glow
in the west and the slanted light was greyish gold. As we ate and chatted we
noticed a rise in the mood of our fellow diners and looked outside. It was raining.
Soon we emerged into the caress of lush air. Puddles created a cooling effect
as we made our way to PorchFest, a first-time event in one of Tucson’s historic
neighborhoods. We met a couple more friends and wandered from one porch to the
next where musicians played mostly acoustic music. The little bit of water
awakened desert neighborhood scents – creosote and cleveland sage, pigeon
droppings and warm wet concrete. Music wafted in the luscious air along with
the scents and the soft receding light. Really lovely.

That was short-lived though. This week we’ve had a little bit
of afternoon rain but for the most part it’s been about 106 outside and a
little humid as the monsoon season builds. With the creeping humidity, I’m retreating.
Shifting to a more internal life inside my house. There is a lot of reading. Many hours of reading. I keep the phone next to me on the off chance
someone will call. I don’t want to have to get up from my chair.

Yet I have been slowly making progress on my house projects.
These are the conditions I’m facing: I went out earlyish in the morning to
measure my front square footage in preparation for ordering crushed rock cover,
walking round the edges with a tape measure. It’s only about 400 square feet so
we’re not talking a lot of time outside. I came back in and was fine for about
a minute. And then sweat burst from my entire body. Which just perpetuates the desire
to close the blinds, turn the air conditioning down a couple degrees and dive
into a pool of words.

I know it is probably a lot more interesting for all of you
if I get out and do things and then report back. But for now I’m kind of
hibernating. I’ll let you know if anything dramatic happens. Like, I went outside. And survived.

HI, Joan,I like the image of the humid heat being a burka. I've read all this year's posts now. I'll go back and read the ones you wrote just after retiring, as that's where I am now. About becoming more descriptive: Do you read Stephen King? I ask because many of my friends are afraid to read him. The man is not one of the world's best-selling authors by accident. Part of what makes Stephen King so compelling is that he begins his books with detailed descriptions of ordinary life. The worlds he creates, especially in the books that have a first-person narrator, are so vivid that I, as the reader, come to completely accept them as real. Then, when the strange things begin happening, I have to accept them as real, too. I often find myself thinking in that narrator's voice. Powerful prose! Less scary trial read: The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon. Fondly, Peggy

About Me

I retired in August 2012 after four decades of jobs and self-employment ranging from social service to waitressing to lawyering to collaboration/mediation. I wanted to participate in the modern age - having experiences (no matter how banal) and writing about them.
This is not your grandmother’s blog. I’m single, active, no kids. It’s not about moving to Florida or hanging at the club between rounds of golf or about what to do now that hubby is home all day. This blog isn’t practical advice, tips or resources for retirement. There’s plenty of that out there already.
This is a chronicle of what this transformation - this transition/adventure - has been and continues to be for me. Delivered in small doses. God knows (that would be small "g" if it wasn't the beginning of a sentence) I had the attention span of about two paragraphs when I was working full-tilt. I'm going to try and remember what it was like being in the work-world...as I cross over...become feral...live the answers I usually provided when anyone asked me "What are you going to do?": "Recover my authentic self" or "Whatever I want". The Frontage Road to Zen is now open. And there are no posted limits.